Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1887-08-04

voice as she fepned:
THAT name, Stephen, you cannot
speak until you have proved beyond
doubt your right TO use It." Then,
growing n trife more excited, she
added: 'Why have yoH followed me
out here to recall those days when the
name possessed such a deep and holy
significance; when l so foolishly be-
lieved that you really loved me; that
your caresses were pure and for me
alone! Why have you disturbed me,
/ ask, and where is She! that you are
not with herp"
The maa started at the latter ques-
ton and shifted uneasily in his seat,
then lifting his eyes to the flushed
face of his inquisitOr, in a low, un-
steady voice he answered:
'Relief, she is dead!' ...
''Dead! What mean you?" The
woman's voice was now pregnant
with feverish anxiety, and with an ea-
ger interest that she made no attempt
to conceal awaited his reply.
'Listen, Relief"
The man had brought his chair
close to the small pine table that
stood between them and now held a
letter in his hand. The woman sat
motionless on the box, directly in
front, intently watching his move
ments, her face betraying the vivid
interest she felt. She uttered no
sound, but the quick breathing that
agitated her frame told how deeply
her emotions were stirred.
Five minutes elapsed before the
mans voice was sufficiently under
control to permit his continuing.
Then, still holding the open letter, but
without glancing at it, and with eyes
concentrated on a knotty imperfection
in the table before him, he began:
"When, on that never-to-be-forgot-
ten night, you accidentally overheard
my words of passion for Edith Mel-
rose, until then your dearest friend,
you perhaps, and with good reason,
thought it the outcome of an illicit
love, long concealed from you. Yet
such, 1 swear to you, Relief, was not
the case.
II will not attempt to deny that l
had always admired your friend, but
it was only in the manner that / would
regard a handsome picture or an ele-
CANT work of art
For, as you know, she was beau
tiful, strikingly so, and my artist eye
had long been attracted by her splen-
did physique, but until that fatal eve
ming never had l had an unholy
thought regarding her. Whether it
was the wine l had drank, or the
gleam of her eyes that led me on,
know not, nor will l try to palliate
my offense by offering excuses. Du-
ring the temporary lull following
waltz, strolled out in the gardens
with her and almost before l knew it,
had seized her hand and in burning
words declared my passion
'Barely had l snatched one kiss
from her lips, when you, Relief, like
an avenging spirit, burst upon us and
in vehement tones demanded the ex-
planation of such scene.
Edith fled, and I tried to humble
some incoherent words. But your
mood had changed and without wait
ing, you scorned my advances and
passed into the house, never deigning
me look.
"That night slept in the room ad-
joining yours; your door was locked
and you refused to listen to any ex-
plantations.
"NeNt day went as usual to my
downtown studio, but / could not
work and returned home early. Twas
too late, however; you had gone, leav-
ing note saying in few lines you
would never see me again and that all
attempts to seek you out would be
useless.
"To your friends accounted for
your sudden disappearance by saying
that you had been telegraphed for by
a dear friend, who was at the point of
death, and that you would stay until
she improved or died.
':That was six months ago. Ten
days after you left, Edith Melrose was
taken ill, and despite unremitting care
and the best of physicians, she died.
Two days before her death she sent for
me and placed this letter in my hand,
saying, Stephen, I can never forgive
myself for having listened to your
ayowals and for having wickedly en-
ticed them. l have implored Gods
for my sinful conduct, and
want you never to rest moment un-
til you have found your wife and have
given her this letter.
'Relief, never saw her again and
as God is my witness, that kiss you
saw me press upon her lips was the
first and only one that ever passed be-
tween us. | have traced you from
place to place and finally learned,
through the merest accident, that you
had come to Dakota and taken up
claim"
He paused, raised his eyes to his
wife's face and silently passed the let
ter for which she had mechanically
her hand; then his head
sank, face down, between his arms
upon the table and a long-suppressed
sob escaped him.
During this recital Relief had been
softly crying and now through her
tears she tried to read the letter. 1t |
was as follows:
"My poor wronged friend: Lying here, as
firmly believe, upon my death-bed, l ask you |
your w once dear Edith the bitter wrong I she she has
inflicted upon you. want Stephen to hand |
you this letter with his own hands. He will |
tel you how brief the extent of our wrong,
loing was, but to me, the memory of its sim
Fulness will remain until death finally washes
)ut the stain. My silly vanity has been the
cause of all my trouble and of yours. Not |
content with the crowd of admirers at my
'eet determined to add your husband to the
lumber and deliberately lured him on. Little
lid | dream what the result would be; God
las punished me for my presumption, but he